Gregson surveyed the island. There was a lighthouse on the far end, with several brick dormitories nearby. Volleyball, badminton, and croquet were happening on the front lawn. The girls looked like sorority airheads. Gregson didn’t mind—he was just trying to size-up what he was dealing with.

“It’s almost like the playboy mansion, without Hugh Hefner,” Gregson observed. “Where should we check-in?”

“I’ve been sleeping in the guard’s barracks. The rest of the island is woods, and cliffs. Nobody goes there, but we can take a jeep, if we need to.”

“Perhaps, the girls are on scholarship?” Gregson said.

“But what are they studying?” Murphy asked. “They play games most of the day. When a new one arrives, she sleeps for a week. Maybe the governor knows. Seasick, probably.”

“But all of them? They might be drugged. When is the governor available?”

“He keeps to himself. Periodically, women are taken-off the island, and he signs their release. I rarely see him. Stephon picks-up the girls, and drops them off. Nobody gets on or off this island without him.”

“What’s the weather like?” Gregson asked.

“Mostly sunny, with an occasional hurricane. Your suitcases arrived before you did. Air drop, I think. Let’s get you situated in the barracks and enjoy some lunch.”

The brick building gave Gregson the willies. There were bars on the windows. It was the kind of place one could never get used to, even if you knew every inch of brick. It felt like the person at work you’ve known for 20 years—you catch bits and pieces of their conversation, but they’re still a stranger, stranger still, because you have known them, without knowing them. Whoever belongs to this island, doesn’t belong anywhere else, Gregson thought.

“What do they call this place?” He asked.

“The Island of Lost Women,” Murphy said.

“You’re joking.”

2 thoughts on “Chapter 4 The Island of Lost Women

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